


summer solstice

by whorerormovie



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dimiclaude Birthday Week 2020, M/M, Original Characters - Freeform, Slow Burn, mentions of prejudice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:34:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25941442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whorerormovie/pseuds/whorerormovie
Summary: Dimitri receives an invitation from the Almyran king, requesting his presence during an important celebration. Unable to refuse an old friend he undergoes a journey to a place he’s never been, eager to learn about a world other than his own. Though, not all is as transparent as it appears of paper.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 9
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a multi-chaptered fic where I attempt my best to fit each theme into a chapter. Though, not all days will be covered by this work of fiction.  
> I’ve always wanted to write something centered in Almyra. Everything written is a creative interpretation that’s at points exaggerated with fantasy. 
> 
> Special thanks to my friend HELLA for beta reading this! 
> 
> My Twitter: @whorerormovie

**DAY I: Stargazing, Day & Night, Ocean**

He still recalls the message, and the joy he had felt at the intricacy of the revelation. A synchronized dance between warriors, their blades lit aflame as robust bodies wielded them. It was mesmerizing to witness how they paralleled one another. The heat of the fire as it spun warmed his skin and added hue to his pale tone. Red blurs became an after effect with the dynamic gestures. His court underwent an ongoing silence. The emptiness of their marveled mouths were filled with the exuberant Almyrian dancers, the sounds of their stomping, the exerts of their voices coming in grunts. They were nimble and their bodies well defined. There’s evidence of muscle bulging beneath the frail fabrics with every abduction and adduction. 

Metal burns bright, burns orange with zest as the dance draws to a close. A combustion of sparks is what signals the end when swords clash in pairs, crossing overhead, forming a bridge to walk under. 

A brave man begins to walk alone beneath the fires of Almyra. A piece of home to bring to the north, to those who know little of its virtue. Nameless in the declaration of his kingdom, this man is regal in his stride but looks to be no more than a messenger. He is evenly paced, each step takes consideration as to when the heated blades will begin to cool. So when he passes, the burning blades recede to their dull grays.

He bows before the Fodlan king, hand to his chest as a form of reverence. His features are sunken, a face ripe with age, but even so, when the messenger opens his eyes, Dimitri is greeted with a familiar set of green. 

Green, like Claude’s eyes.

Although Claude is not present, Dimitri knows these are his men. They wear his colors, they have his skin and the same textured hair. The same long legs, the even shorter mids, and the rarity of a smile, it’s all the same. A reflection of the person Dimitri most wishes to see again. 

“We’ve come to deliver a message from his excellency, King Riegan.” The messenger spoke, his voice deepens with an accent. He brings forth an envelope, lighter in weight compared to the many rings mounted on his fingers. From this distance Dimitri is able to view the seal, a golden wax stamped to be in the shape of the Riegan crest. 

This is unusual, normally for urgent manners, Claude himself comes to make the announcement, just as he had when he returned to Fodlan after years of silence to propose a treaty between their nations. That’s not to say that he didn’t maintain contact for the many moons to come. He has written letters, yes, but nothing that deserved such an extraordinary exhibition. Some were intimate, both foregoing their titles as kings as they wrote to one another as friends, as equals. Though seldom they happen, those moments served Dimitri well, they became a retreat to his strenuous days. 

Claude’s other letters, of course, were of business. Those arrived more frequently with an envoy, but still left a lasting impression all the same. Long pages dedicated to the socioeconomics of their countries, where they are failing, where they are succeeding, and most importantly, where they could improve. It would be simple to say that the treaty has made things better, but it hasn’t, there is still much political unrest within something that still feels newborn. Prejudice flows like blood in both their nations and it clots to prevent progress. He has gone as far as to stifle uprisings from the merchants guild, he imagines Claude has dealt with far worse, his people being more action oriented and all. 

The king raises his hand, signaling one of his trusted advisors to gather the letter upon their palm and bring it to him. Ingrid took such notice and carried herself with poise across the marble steps. An angel of white armor, she takes the envelope, Dimitri does not miss how her thumb digs with force, crinkling the parchment in-between. She gives a nod to the messenger, and prior to ascending the stairs, she gives a cautious look to the armed dancers, suspicion within her gaze. She gives a signal to the nearby guards to be on standby should anything arise. 

The guests notice, their eyes shifting to one another and then to the guards. The mood in the room shifts at his knight’s subtle display of power, it speaks, we do not trust you, and the king feels embarrassed due to such a tactless act. Although he has not said anything, the sternness of his eye tells her there is much left that needs to be discussed.

His knight stands before him, arm stretched outward, letter in hand waiting for him to partake. He mulls over declining her entry into his heaven, with her fallen halo is there room for her in his holy kingdom? Of course there is, he cannot fathom leaving a friend who has stood by him and loved him at his worst. She is just misguided, just as he once was in his youth. 

He takes the envelope, carefully cracking open the seal, as to carefully salvage the content inside long after everyone has left. He unfolds the page revealing the gold foil that acts as ink. Smooth on the page, his eye glides over the cursive words in Claude’s penmanship. It reads:

_Dearest Dimitri,_

_I know this may seem unexpected but you have been in my thoughts as of late. I miss you, friend, and would love nothing more than your companionship during the days leading to the summer solstice. It is a big cause for celebration here in Almyra and I would love nothing more than for you to witness it firsthand._

_It has occurred to me that you have never visited Almyra, despite my many tales. I seek to remedy that, if, and only if, you are appeased to the idea. It has been too long my friend, and partly, I am to blame. Our lives keep us both busy, however, that doesn’t mean we have to drift apart out of duty. We fought by one another’s side during an age of bloodshed, now let’s sit by one other in this age of peace._

_If my men have not won you over, perhaps the promise of seeing my darling smile will. My entourage will be upon your harbor for one day, should you choose to join, you will leave by morning on ship. Wyverns would have been the faster way to travel, but, I know you don’t take kindly to flying. Wish I could spare you from the sea that divides us, but alas I am only a man. Rest assured that I spared no expense to ensure that your travels are to your liking, safe, comfortable, and most of all, private._

_I know this is unexpected, and it takes more time than I have given you to form your decision, but, whatever your answer maybe, I shall respect it just as I’ve come to respect you._

_Forever reaching out with open arms,_

_Claude._   
  


The answer came easy. He had decided then and there that he would go, he had to disguise his reasoning of course, play it under a ruse of fostering better relationships between their people. What better way of showing trust than to welcome an outsider upon their festivities. What better way for Dimitri to show trust than to go without his entourage. Trusting the men of Almyra to ensure his safety, not that they needed to, Dimitri is plenty capable on his own. This is simply about sending the message that he trusts these outsiders with his life. 

A message he hopes his people see, understand, and follow.

The king met opposition from his court, a considerable pushback came from Ingrid. She implored him not to go, or to at least, take guards. It could be a trap, she had said mistrustingly, as if she had met a different Von Riegan than he had. So the king proposed a truce, he would take only one person, that person being Ingrid, if only to cease the bickering. 

Seeing as all other propositions have failed, she had agreed to the terms. By nightfall, the quiet is brought back into his domain once more.

Which now brings him here, Under the **night** sky where the water seems bleak. An endless darkness stretching deep into the trenches of the sea, a pitfall, with only the wail of tides alerting their presence. It rocks the ship, if only idly. The water struggles against the grate of wood keeping them all afloat. From a distance he hears Ingrid, her voice luring him out of the waves. 

“Your highness, come inside, it is far too dangerous for you to be alone.” This stern woman veils her voice in robes of silk, a soft sentence to the ears, she cares, cares enough for her king to not leave him in the presence of Almyrans. Ingrid’s trust doesn’t come easily, moreso with outsiders. She’s lost a loved one, many in fact, and for many years she believed that those at fault were outsiders (perhaps still does). So when an Almyrian envoy appeared on his lands with an invitation from their king, she took her place at her king’s side, and hasn’t looked back since.

Dimitri did not give her an answer, instead, he allowed the silence to speak on his behalf as he **stargazes** . The specs of light above do very little to illuminate a path below. From this distance their light barely reflects off the water, the ship’s silhouette lost in the ocean’s water. He is able to hear the sound of tides struggling against the ship, but he is unable to see them, unable to taste the salt of the Almyran **ocean**.

Dimitri feels disconnected being afloat because the water is not his element. He prefers something sturdy, not something that will cave underneath his weight. Land keeps him upright, the ocean, however, does not. In the water he will surely sink, the last of his breath to be stowed away on the ocean floor. 

“But I am not alone. You see the stars above? They are with me, just as you are with me. I find it hard to be lonely upon such overwhelming company.” He speaks, not as a king to a subject, but as one friend to another. Claude has used those exact words on him, forever leaving an everlasting impression. 

To think of the stars as company is to think highly of oneself. That’s what Dimitri originally thought, anyways. That no one on this earth could match the potency in which one burns, you as a person are superior, above everyone else, to the point of not even belonging to the same stratosphere. That was the assumption and that caused him to think wrongly of the young Riegan. But he was a fool then, unable to realize that it was loneliness that led Claude to that conclusion. 

To experience such desolate surroundings that one’s search leads them out of bounds, to the stars above where each star has a friend. Among an infinite number one feels small but not left out. That's what Claude had come to believe. 

“Claude told me to think of stars as pathways that connect one person to the next. So then I wonder, among the infinite paths, which one will lead me to him?” The king feels small looking at the stars. A contrast of light within an expanse of darkness. They are a multitude of glimmering brightness, of all shapes, of all sizes, holding on until day break. His eye is drawn to the biggest stars, connecting patterns that he knows of. Constellations: Ursa, Draco, Polaris to name a few. Lynx reminds him most of Claude, its zigzag lines unpredictable. No line moves in the same direction, each bar moves a different way, at a different angle, ever shifting and nimble. Simple yet intricate, just like the tactician. 

“You’re quite fond of him.” Ingrid comments, a hint of softness found inside her voice. A rare thing, special even, whenever the knight decides to shed her hard exterior for a gentle one. Dimitri’s voice resigns any notion of continuation. His cheeks a rosy tint signaling his flustered state. Ingrid notices this in the pale moonlight but says nothing of it. Instead, her hand grappled at the rope tied to the mast, keeping herself upright as the ship turned on its axis. It is only a matter of hours before they reach the kingdom of Almyra. Neither could sleep in anticipation of what may unfold on the foreign coast. 

“No matter the path the result is the same. One sky, one destiny.” Ingrid places her other hand on his shoulder, softly squeezing in camaraderie. He finds solace in her words, knowing that despite residing over different regions, they watch over the same sky. They share that at least, while distance keeps them apart. 

Both Fodlanders spend the night on deck. Ingrid, true to her word, remained at his side. When neither of them spoke they found the silence to be filled by the sailors, speaking in a language neither could comprehend. 

Watching the sunrise together was an experience unlike any other. The blue of the sky became more evident the higher the sun rose. A heat so hot that it purged all other stars out of the sky. A blank slate, with only the hottest orb of fire to take residence. The air is dry and the rays of light come to make their skin itch, turning it subtle hues of red. It is clear now why Almyrans are different toned, the sun gives them no other alternative. 

Dimitri and Ingrid go into their respective chambers if only to change prior to the arrival. To make themselves presentable, to bring pride to his kingdom, they are both of equal measure. Though if he were to be honest, he feels ill prepared for the weather. Olefin fibers construe his overcoat. It reaches his knees, the blue of the fabric offset by golden embroidery alongside his spine and cuffs. The front is bare of any patterns, focusing instead on the tassels that held it close. That being said, A shoulder guard crafted from metal beaten into the shape of a lion. Wide jawed, exposing its dangerous bite, leaving those to contemplate what they ought to say to the king. It is painted, of course, in gold, with rubies mounted on tassels protruding from its mouth. It’s meant to resemble blood, making a statement of just how fierce those of house Blaiddyd can be. Also worth a note, his eyepatch is blue to match, golden threads lining the border in artful degree. His hair kept proper in a ponytail that hangs down to the shoulder blades. The fringe of his front layered, descending just above the eyes and over the sides of his face. To say the least his hair has grown over the years, he’s nearing his thirties now and his hair is beginning to show for it. Colors are fading, a lighter blonde, especially as it nears the ends. Soft to the touch, his bundles turning into slight waves the longer it gets. 

He notes that the ship halts in its movements as he hears the anchor fall. Chain, heavy and rustic plummeting out of sight into the dangers of the water. The sound of footsteps saturate the walls both below and above him. Distinct shouting, foreign tongue shout overhead and he hears the steps multiplying. 

There is a knock at his door followed by a hesitant pause, there is murmuring beyond the door until a more aggressive pursuit is taken. A louder knock this time, the door rattles, just as Dimitri does in his bones. 

Is this excitement? Nervousness?

“Your highness, we have reached land.” The lands of Almyra, just beyond these doors, beyond the steps that would lead upward to the outside world. Dimitri takes a ventured step forward, and then another, then another until inevitably his feet carried him through where he would be greeted by Ingrid, and the messenger, Noman. Both standing one beside the other, each one taking their space on either side of the door. Ingrid’s hands rest in her front, placed properly one on top of the other, while Noman maintains his behind his back, both waiting for the guest of honor.

The Fodlander king draws breath and begins to walk, with representatives of both nations at his arms. Once they made it through the threshold, he was blind sighted by the abundance of sunlight. Flashing white for a moment, giving his eye time to adjust to the colors of **day**.

What he sees is incredible. 

True to his words there was Claude, _the_ Claude Von Riegan, breathtaking as he stands on the sands of his shores. The soles of his feet exposed to the hot sand below, and yet, he does not react to the affliction of heat. Instead, Claude smiles at him, free of worry and free of hesitation as the ruler of this vast kingdom. His white mantle is carried by the wind, a soft, near transparent fabric. It’s long, longer than Claude’s height can support, so as the wind settles, the fabric drags over the water’s surface like a bride’s veil over the church floor. 

Claude has changed over the years. Yes, his face is still a fine cut opal, ovular in shape and the greens, a tint of color that adds to the gem’s significance. His body has become more filled, whether in muscle or adipose, Dimitri just doesn’t know with the loose fitted garbs. What draws his eyes attention is a corset, snuggled tightly on his chest, crimson on hue with golden tapestry sewed on as detailing. Beneath that, is a white shirt with a deep cut neckline so that the various golden chains can be visualized.

A crimson sash wrapped around his midline, similar in pattern and color to the corset, a matching set, he imagines. The white pants, they too match the sensibility of the mantle’s threads and a similar cut to the shirt, loose-fitting, comfortable, but most of all, regal. Claude’s hair beckons for attention too, with the many gold hoops that cling to his braid. It being longer than their academy days, it now reaches his clavicle, part of his hair, however, is kept under wraps by a band of yellow. The remainder of his brown locks overflows over and underneath in subtle waves.

Dark waves that Dimitri wouldn’t mind diving in.

It is the sound of water that draws the holy king into the present. Too mesmerized by the presence of an old friend that he failed to notice Claude standing in the water. Ankle deep, his arm reaching outward, hand waiting to be grasped by the other king. 

_Forever reaching out with open arms_

Just as the letter entailed. 

It finally dons to Dimitri that he’s actually in Almyra. So little is known that instead of inquiring truths it is far simpler to conjure lies. In his stay here, he hopes to remedy that. He wants his people to know that those who reside on the other side of the ocean are no different, that they too are worthy of respect and tolerance. 

So much to see, so much to learn, but his eye, it does not drift from Claude. Dimitri smiles at the other king as he looks from up the ship, mindful of Ingrid’s grip on his bicep, preventing him from jumping ship. He is a king, it’s not enough to look the part, he needs to act as one as well.

“It has been a long time, your kingliness.” The softest of smiles softens Claude’s expression. Jade tinted eyes stare affectionately at Dimitri during the greeting. 

“Far too long, old friend.” Dimitri answers with mutual candor. The corners of his lips curve upward, excited to experience all that Almyra is.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I messed up with the publishing, so I’m reuploading the second day and will reupload the third day once I’m off work.
> 
> Sorry for the inconvenience.

**DAY II: Cold & Warmth, Almyra & Faerghus, Horseback & Wyvern Riding**

**Almyra** has defied his expectations in every sense of the word. 

The king of Fodlan had his own preconceptions on how it might be, he expected there to be an abundance of nature. A color palette built by a multitude of foliage, to match its peoples whimsical personalities. Dimitri only had Claude to base this assumption on, the Almyran is just so eccentric that he felt that it would translate to the landscape.

Color here does not come from the environment, but rather, its people. It’s in their wardrobe, their cosmetics, even the domiciles are beautified with colorants. Passing through the gate and into the mainland he notices that the sand of the docks is replaced with a more solid ground. Without the ocean waves to turn rock into sand, the result is a mountainscape leading into the heart of the nation, _the palace._

The steps leading into the palace is an overwhelming experience, only due to the sheer size of Almyra’s architectural genius. Imposing edifices are engraved into the mountainside, making themselves part of the landscape. In other sections there are buildings erected on top of mountain peaks, setting its distinction on what was man made and what isn’t. From here, Dimitri can only marvel at the achievements of their ancestors. 

Dimitri takes a halt under the presence of shade but it was short-lived. a fleeting figure with wings flew above him - a wyvern. There’s a lot of those here, and each one mounted by a skilled rider. Dimitri turns his body to follow the movement of the wyvern and its rider, they trail back to whence the party entered, through the main gate. The gate itself is just an archway, but on top of it, a watchtower where many guards keep watch over it. Though, he is taken back by their lack of armor. What little amount is presented fortifies little beyond the arms and shoulders. He recognizes that an archer must travel light, but to his upbringing, it just seems scant.

Claude once mentioned that Almyrans value strength and courage. To wear armor is to want protection, wear it in excess means that you fear something, and fear means weakness. If you are easily frightened, then the battlefield is not for you. But in times of peace such as this, the battlefield doesn’t suit anyone. He wants to build a future where that is possible. A future where children can live long enough to see their parents grow old, and for their parents to see their children become adults, where generations of families can live long and united beneath one household. He wants for others what he didn’t have for himself, he doesn’t want anyone to become a casualty of war ever again. 

When thinking of such a future, he currently sees the children and adults of Almyra carrying wood and throwing them into big piles around the city. Some piles have already been reformed into towers, marking the spaces on either side of the main path. These towers stretch high, the logs intersect in sets of three to remain upright. From the base up is three logs laying horizontal, on top of it, three logs vertical and the cycle repeats. 

The surrounding area becomes more cramped but no less enjoyable. The city is lively with people at this time. Everyone is working towards something, big or small, their roles will add up when the time of the main event comes. Still, no matter how busy, everyone at some point in time stops to stare, not at their king, but at the estranged man next to the king. Lips move in secret, some exude quiet laughter, others simply forego any kind of enjoyment. He notes that it is those of elder age that frown when they see him, he also notices that Ingrid became aware of this, because she frowns right back, causing the friendlier faces of the bunch to muddle in distaste. 

Ingrid and Dimitri, they start to feel it now, the wear and tear of the sun as it amplifies on them. A lack of tone now comes with added pigment, pink filling the spaces that used to be white. Their pores begin to sweat, bodies trying their best to insulate but the coverings they wore did not allow them to cool off. 

The garments are an homage to their home. A land of winter where most of the months are pelted under snow. **Warmth** is something frequently sought after back home, here, it is something they repel. Dimitri and Ingrid are simply unprepared for this opposing climate, nothing that they own will quell the exceeding temperatures of this part of the world. Still, neither will complain. If the extreme **cold** of their homeland isn’t a cause for complaint neither will the temperature here get a rise out of them. Even if their legs burn with every step taken in the incline. 

“So, Claude, what exactly is it that you are celebrating again?” It is Ingrid’s comprehensible voice that cuts clear through the sea of unknown background dialogue, mostly said by the artisans hoping to sell their wares. If time allows it, he hopes to return to this market if only for the way it commands his attention. It separates itself from the mountain builds entirely by segmenting colored adobe bricks into the ground, creating a patterned platform to walk upon. Geometrical shapes fill the layout, complemented by the colored tapestry hanging on stalls.

“Hm, did I fail to mention it?” was Claude’s response, feigning a sense of worry. 

The stalls diverge the path ahead, segmenting it into different pathways. The royal guards maneuver the layout, ensuring that Claude, Dimitri, Ingrid and Noman kept center at all times for their safety. 

“The fault is my own, I neglected to mention the reason for our visit.” Dimitri stated bashedly. He didn’t need to look to know that Ingrid was blatantly staring at him, he can just envision the twitching of her eyebrow in annoyance. 

“Looks like his Highness has learned a thing or two from the schemer.” Sounds worse than she means, when she in fact doesn’t mean anything by it. It’s a bite that draws no blood, merely something to be said and done with no emotion behind it. Although this visit may fall under a paradigm of leisure, this is still work for her. Foremost it is her duty to defend her king, everything else comes second in this line of work. 

“You say that as if that’s a bad thing.”

“ _It is_.” Claude laughs at her response.

“Ingrid.” His tone says it all. It’s enough to chastise her without saying the words. “You have my sincerest apologies. Please excuse my knight, she must be falling ill to heat's effect.” To ridicule a king in front of his subjects is a punishable act, he’s just thankful Claude has always been merciful. 

“Well, If I may interject to answer my lady's question, the summer solstice is a great cause for celebration in Almyra. We consider it to be the first day of the year, all things considered, it is also the longest day of the year.” Claude says with such casual ease that it makes Dimitri feel as though they were all back at the academy. It's easy to indulge in fond memories, but that’s all they are, memories, it is time to move forward and make some new memories in the small time they have.

This time, it is Noman who speaks, “My lords, pardon my intrusion on the subject, but do you celebrate the winter solstice in its stead?”

“Actually, it’s not a cause for celebration. It simply marks the date in which winter begins.” Answers Ingrid, leaving out the details that there’s little they can do to celebrate. Doing a feast in celebration will only ensure that many go hungry in the future months, they have to ration their food, lest they die from starvation before winter ends. There could be song and dance but one can only dance so long until the chill begins to take residence in their bodies. 

Fodlan doesn’t have many traditions, and based on Noman’s grim silence, Dimitri feels shame begin to bud. Nevertheless, that sensation felt short lived when reaching a bridge. On either side of the bridge, entrance monuments in the shape of Almyran riders and their mounts ascended from natural rock. Upon closer inspection the fissures in the rock are sedimented with gold. An old age sculpture, withering through time kept together by modern means. The arrow points of the riders touched in what would be the center, and right below is where passersby would walk through. The guards keeping watch of the bridge stepped aside to allow their passage over the bridge, that in itself is composed of wood, a material resource he’s seen in Almyra with scarcity. 

It is upon the first few steps that he notices there’s nothing beneath them, only an endless drop. From this distance the end cannot be seen, only a bleak darkness in the shape of mist can vaguely describe it. Though that in itself is not terrifying, not upon seeing the sheer magnitude of the palace firsthand. Yes, he’s seen it from a distance ever since they’ve passed the gate, but nothing compares to seeing it so close and personal. 

The palace is separated from the rest by this bridge, it is the only entrance that can be reached by land. It is built upon a smaller solitary mountain surrounded by even bigger developments of rock massif. Near the center of the palace is a balcony overlooking Almyra, in the balcony there sits two thrones, which are currently unoccupied. What holds up the balcony is a set of pillars, each one engraved with their own identifying symbol. The outside of the balcony has ornate tapestry befitting of the Almyran style as bright colors encompass the space area. With the balcony being the centerpoint, two towers stand behind the balcony, their tops converging into bartizans. From the sides smaller towers are connected by curtain walls, making it all seem like a connected piece. Truly, it is a marvelous creation that has withstood the test of time with its ornate sandstone walls aligned with copper fixtures. 

Suppose there will be enough time to explore the castle once they become situated. It is only a matter of time until they come to cross the bridge. With so many bodies crowding the space, it’s cardinal to his nerves that they reach firm ground. 

“It appears that the guest of honor has finally arrived.” Came a voice that he nor Ingrid recognized. The unique candanence was followed by footsteps, a multitude of them as he witnessed a female lead an entourage of guards. She wore garbs fit for a noble and she appeared slightly older than Claude by a few years. Her skin is brown just as her eyes are, a beautiful pigment to match the leather holsters securely attached to her thighs. Such an elegant woman proudly bearing knives with the intention of drawing out blood as red as her lips. Her hair is long and dark, its roots straight while the longer it gets the curlier it becomes at the ends. This woman, she eyes Ingrid especially then follows with a tilt of her head. “Or should I say guests?” Plural, guess him bringing company wasn’t accounted for. 

“Nadae, if you will, my guests are tired.” Claude had said with no room for compromise. 

“They are not simply your guests my dear brother, they are Almyra’s guests. It is only fitting that I introduce myself and my services to the holy king of **Fhaergus** and his lovely wife.” So much to take away from that sleugh of words. Could this be Claude’s sister? He’s never mentioned that he had a sister prior to this. But he can see the similarity on how they both use words as a weapon, how they employ theatrics to soften the blows. Physically they’re quite alike too, similar in height, leg shape and hair type. Points of dissimilarity are the lips and eyes, hers take a more sharp edge and fuller lips. Her upper body is more toned, it's easy to see the swell of muscle beneath the sleeves as compared to Claude’s softening upper body. 

“I-I’m not his wife! I’m a knight from the kingdom here to help guard the one and only King Dimitri Alexander Blaiddyd.” Ingrid's slightly embarrassed at the confusion. Dimitri too was taken back by the bold assumption but chose to say nothing.

“Ah, a guard!” Nadae walks over to Claude, lips curling into a smirk, as if mocking him. “Your esteemed guest brought a guard, guess he doesn't trust you as well as you thought.” 

This time, it’s Dimitri's turn to intervene. Taking offense to her statement, he steps in between them, his standoffish attitude puts the Almyran guards on alert, which causes Ingrid to do the same. Tension running high in this moment, Claude tries to defuse it by placing his hand on Dimitri’s shoulder, but it does very little to placate the blonde’s irritation. “It would be wise for you not to speak so freely on matters you know nothing of, milady. Claude is a dear friend of mine, one whom I trust with my very life and will give my life for willingly if need be.” Dimitri leaves no margin for error, he makes himself understood. 

“You must not value your life much at all then.” Her smirk didn’t wane, if anything, it hung more proudly. Nadae turns to look at Claude with a knowing expression and ignoring Dimitri altogether, “I see now why he interests you, he has what you lack,” she winks at her brother as a form of goodbye but says nothing to Dimitri or Ingrid. Nadae walks away, and as she does, she exhales a sharp whistle. Short moments later a wyvern rains from the sky, taking its place next to its owner. Nadae places one foot on the footrest as one of her hands reaches for the saddle. She turns to look at the company before her with a cunning smile. “Oh, and do enjoy your stay, thy holiness, king Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd .” Calling him holiness, mispronouncing his last name, it’s blatant mockery, but that’s not what angers him so, it’s her disservice to her brother, her king, by ridiculing his guest in front of him and his guards. 

Dimitris hands balls into fists at his sides as she takes into the air. Her hair perfectly flows in the wind as she looks down at Dimitri, both figuratively and literally. 

This is only the beginning, he thinks, growing ever more uncertain of how the days will play out in this court.

* * *

There is a knock at his door. King Dimitri halts his actions to smooth out the wrinkles of his clothes. This time he’s alternated into something more comfortable and welcoming of the hotter climate here, courtesy of the Almyran king. He and his guests were spared spacious rooms in the palace, big windows and a set design to the interior to allow air to flow through. The linens of his bed are thin and fresh, and many pillows take up the space of his bed. A high ceiling sets it all together with smooth tiles on the floor, the room itself forgone of carpeting because it will feel warm to the feet. 

Judging by the fainting light outside the sun outside must be receding. Claude had mentioned that supper would be served shortly after sunfall. Perhaps the plans have changed and have sent a guard to fetch him. Per the princess, the guests are not to be left unattended should they need anything. Her words exactly, he heard her give the order to the guards within the castle. Whether Nadae knew of his presence there, it did not matter, what mattered was that it felt less for their comfort and more for surveillance. 

When the knock came to his door again he acknowledged it by walking towards it, his footsteps loud and heavy purposely to signify his coming. He does not want to say come in, he refuses to give the guards outside his door that confidence, if they come in, let it be by his own terms. Dimitri turns the knob and opens the door and finds himself to be welcomed by Claude’s face. 

“I was hoping you had a moment to spare.” He asks, hands behind his back as he suddenly leans forward, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Suddenly he was back at the academy and Claude was roping him into one of his schemes, and he, with feelings he did not know how to decipher, always said yes because he wanted to please Claude. All it takes is a smile. With just one smile he’s his. 

Claude takes him into a clearing away from privy eyes, well, from human eyes since his wyvern awaits for them both. He vaguely remembers her if only for the whiteness of her pigment, a rare coloration that stems from her kind. It makes her unique, so of course her owner had his eyes set on her, they were one and the same, different among their own. Though normally adorned in battle armor, this time she rests without it, letting her scales enjoy the outdoors without the weight of iron weighing her down. For the time being, Dimitri maintains his distance not wanting to infringe on her space.

On the horizon they see that the sun is setting, it’s orange tint bleeding out into pinks that bleed through the skies. It forms a gradient over the land, taking away the promise of daytime, and with it, bringing out the stars as recompense. He can see the stars beginning to set in behind the thinning blanket of clouds. So immerse in what goes on above that he failed to notice what Claude was up to. 

“Here. For you.” The glint of something catches his attention. The Almyran holds it between his index and thumb, whatever it is resembles a white opal. Smoothed to an oval shape, its dimensions appear flat, he also notices that the specs of subtle greens and yellows radiating from the edges add flare to the dominant white. Claude takes one of his hands, his thumb gently skirting over the lifelines that lead his ministrations into Dimitri’s heart. Over the seconds, Dimitri’s fingers sprawled open, allowing for the eventuality of Claude’s hand to lay atop his and properly gift him the item. As the piece lays on Dimitri’s palm, Claude's hands come together around Dimitri's, forcing the hand to close just as he leads it below his chin. “It’s a scale from my wyvern, a rare thing really. Made me think of you when I saw it, and thought that you of all people would admire it the same.” 

The words, they burn in his throat and give him only silence in the reciprocation. The Fodlander wants to say more but feels although anything he will come to claim will fall short of what he truly wants to convey. Not good enough, he struggles with being the inferior wordsmith, so he allows the silence to take his lead. The blush present at his cheeks burns brighter when Claude pulls, commandeering them both closer to the steed. 

“Clau-”

“You know your _kingliness_ , I don’t recall ever seeing you ride a wyvern before, or a pegasus for that matter.”

Dimitri bites his tongue thinking of the ways he could dissuade Claude from what he’s obviously thinking. He knows that if he were to say no, and truly mean it, that Claude would listen. But show the slightest hint of hesitation and the man before him would be on it like a vulture, eating away at the hesitation until there’s certainty. 

“What you’ve given me is truly a wondrous gift. My wish is only to live long enough to repay you for your kindness, and make you feel as cherished as you make me feel.” Dimitri’s words have the desired effect, Claude is left stunned which is no easy feat, but like always, the tactician is quick on his feet and hits back just as heavy. He lets go of Dimitri, the weight over the lord lessened without his touch. Dimitri only feels the scale within his fist. Delicate, careful not to crush it, he has to be mindful of his strength, he doesn’t want to give Claude any room for doubt. 

The stars have finished setting in, now the skies above have shifted with a more sombre attitude. In Almyra the stars are more plentiful, with a colorscape of light blue lighting the space behind. The moon’s luminates over Claude, allowing him to bathe in its doting radiance. 

“I would very much love for you to join me.” This is something Dimitri wants too. He cannot refuse the other, Claude knows this too, with the way Dimitri looks at him, with longing. With each second that passes, with every moment that those emerald eyes are on him, his restraints come undone. Dimitri thinks not of propriety, worries very little about his safety, instead he thinks about how Claude's desires are his own.

_Claude is a dear friend of mine’s, one whom I trust with my very life._

Dimitri takes Claude's hand and eventually, his seat in front of the experienced rider. His legs spread over the saddle, feet unable to touch the ground below. His lips agape by the feeling of the other male pressing firmly against him, his arms coming just below Dimitri’s allowing his forearms to rest on his thighs to get control of the reins.

“You trust me?” Claude whispers in his ear eliciting a shaky response from the other. It makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand, sending the rush of blood in a frenzy throughout his body. This could be a test to gauge his honesty back on the bridge, and he finds himself amicable to the idea. Relishing the fact that he was stuck in Claude's head. His mind is always occupied by urgent matters, and to think that for a moment Dimitri was something urgent fills him joy. 

“With my life.” Turning his head he answers back with the same cadence. 

The brunette smiles against the blonde’s ear and they ascend into the sky. 

A titillating upheave, his body leans back the further they push outward into flight. Many feet above the air, Dimitri can’t help but feel thankful for Claude’s presence in keeping him suspended in midair while **wyvern riding**. His legs tighten around the mount whilst a hand grasp at one of its horns for stability. Claude takes notice of this and urges him to relax, tucking his chin just over his shoulder, his presence a comfort when he becomes one with the moon and stars. 

Claude’s body becomes more snug around him as he feels arms tighten around his form. It helps Dimitri focus, feel more grounded despite being on top of the world in this current state. 

The higher their travels take them the smaller the city below seems. From up here they are gods watching over others, their lives unknowingly playing into their hands. But unlike gods they can die at any moment. And to die was what Dimitri wanted long ago but finds himself glad he didn’t succumb to such a fate. He finds a new love for life being able to experience this moment with his friend. That being said if he were with someone else, it wouldn’t feel as magical. 

“Breathtaking.” A word that encompasses what he truly means. The lights shimmer from down below mapping the layout of such a festive place. From here they can see the provinces, how much they differ and how much they come to terms with how alike they are. He can see now why his friends love taking to the skies, Claude with his wyvern and Ingrid with her pegasus. 

It is liberating.

“What’s breathtaking?” Claude asks, daring to get closer, surprising that it’s even possible at this point. Hard to say if it’s the altitude or the power the other king is able to exert over him, whatever the answer, Dimitri shakes in his boots regardless. From up here no one can see them, no one will know the truth. Winded, lightheaded, all sensations he feels with an intensity that rips through him, the words daring and free. “You are,” he answers. 

Claude swallows, his throat dries at the admission. It is in these rare moments that Claude becomes vulnerable. “I think it’s time we head back to the palace, any longer and you might just ensnare me with your romantic wit.” Claude smiles and it’s the most timid thing he’s ever seen out of him. 

The mount moves down, and Dimitri leans forward and so does Claude in pursuit. They don’t fall, they just go through the motions but something happens that makes Dimitri questions the intention. He feels Claude’s lips on the back of his ear, pressed ever so lightly against his skin. Feeling the subtle lift of lips as it pecks his skin. The sensation of a smile imprints on him, he can feel the skin stretch, morphing into a manifestation of pride. The aftermath of the kiss finally sets in, Dimitri’s body feels hot with want and with only the rush of air to cool him. He cannot want this but he does, he wants to believe that Claude wants the same but he cannot allow this disillusionment to fester. 

Claude is perfection, and thus, deserves someone as perfect as him.


	3. Chapter 3

**DAY III: Flower, Colors & Braids**

Sleep had not come easy the night prior and that was due to a combination of things. The unfamiliarity of this new land and its people, new settings take time for him to adjust to, it is simply the way things are for him. On the boat ride rest rarely came, and it wasn’t because he didn’t trust those around him, it’s more or less that he didn’t trust himself. His nightmares, they are still ongoing, though gentler in their terror. While unconscious he is afraid of what he might say or act, didn’t want the sailors to think of him as an eccentric king. 

Which was all for naught really, because he currently finds his head bobbing to the lag of his horse, and others, rightfully, question his state of wellness. Ingrid pulls up to him, her white horse light on its heels as it tampers over, closer than any Almyran guard on horseback dared to. “Your Highness, are you well, did you get any sleep?” It is her voice that strikes a match, but it is the turning of Claude’s head that burns his skin. 

“I am fine Ingrid.” A pause, his words don’t sound like a lie, but they’re not the truth either. “Nothing to worry about, I am just getting acclimated.” Acclimated to the idea of Claude, of him being present, to have all his senses acknowledging the other, his handsome face, the serenity of his voice, the comfort his smell brings, how sweet his lies feel when formed into a kiss. It’s all part of Claude and he’ll have them anyway he can.

“Shall we head back?” A familiar voice from further on ahead, far enough to keep a physical distance but not far enough as to not be privy of all ongoing conversations. That’s the tactician’s mind at work, fine tuning to whispers in hopes of scoping something valuable. 

Claude pulls on the reins gently, his horse slows its pace until it comes to a halt. Ingrid, and by extension Dimitri, caught up to him. He will voice his refusal once he finds his voice, for now, his eye fights the urge to blink. It feels dry, one of the heat’s many effects on him. His skin perforates underneath cloth, and the royal hide he wears for presentation, adds more of a challenge. King Dimitri wears the sigil of his house on his back. A visual representation of his bloodline, a shield, because he is meant to be a protector, and a knight because he is meant to fight. A great point of pride now becomes his undoing in this grand heat. 

It will shelter his skin from the sun, keep it from growing red and irritated. To wear it means shade, but at the cost of something far greater. 

“Do not speak of nonsense, we have already travelled a great deal.” Dimitri’s smile is small and wicked in detail. His control slightly slips the longer he looks at the other man, choosing to focus on the budding hairs of the ramus and how it’s styled to match the sleek growth on his head. He smells on Claude the earth, something fresh and herbal. It originates from his lips, he spots a peculiar sheen glazing upon them. Ah, the smell of mint is what he identifies.

What Dimitri had said was true, they woke up early to ride into the forest. The king, of course, didn’t describe what they would be doing, rather, he had claimed that it’s a vital part of Almyra that must be shown rather than talked about. So now they find themselves on horseback, thankful for the transportation due to the long distance since the mountain terrain is not an easy walk for humans. The conversation of using wyverns did arise but consideration for Dimitri was taken due to height concerns. Thankfully these horses have fortified hooves that aid them with the terrain, though it is a slow pace to get there.

Claude accepting his answer, merely nods in his direction prior to proceeding. Behind them were a small number of soldiers armed with long and short ranged weapons, precaution taken at every turn during their escalade to ensure the safety of the two kings. If any robbers lurked around the perimeter they would consider twice with an elite team of royal guards nipping at their trail.

An hour later is when they spot the first signs of the forest. Traces of green growing from the crevices, overgrown in their length until the tips turn curved. The soil becomes flatter, less engrained with rocks and other earthly residues. From here it is an abundance of life. Green fills the tops from many miles to come, he recognizes them as pine trees, and a memory is kindled. Claude likes pine tea, it all makes sense. 

That is when Claude gives the order that Ingrid, Dimitri and himself will be heading inside, and that the guards are meant to stay outside and scout the area. He says something else in his mother tongue, tone dropping the casualty to extend his role as leader furthermore. He holds up the number two, it is then his soldiers gather their weapons and pair up around the forest’s margin. Back to back, one half surveying the inside, and the other half surveys the outside. A compact unit fully aware of their surroundings, leave it to Claude Von Riegan to think of such a formation.

And it is by that same Claude Von Riegan’s orders that they traverse inside the taiga.

What greets them is a plethora of pine trees, their scent feels fresh upon the nostrils. Stocky in their build, they grow tall, outward towards the heavens, shielding those below from the sun’s judgement. The shadows of the trees cover the earth with only mild speckles of sunlight peering through, illuminating their paths if only subtly. Careful steps were taken by their steeds as they wandered through the terrain. At first it all seemed to be an aimless throttle through the grounds but the further the trio persisted, the wider the space between each tree became.

Dimitri begins to spot new growths with each passing moment. Some take the shape of shrubs varying in degree of colors. From green, to yellow and into a crisp brown, all defining moments of a transition. Heat is the only thing that comes to mind that could bring about such a change. 

“We’re almost there.” Claude admits, luring them both deeper into the mystery. In this part of the forest everything feels less dense. Sunlight shines through the bigger gaps, he feels its hot degrees in the back of his palms. 

“Do you hear that?” Asks Ingrid, tuning her ears to the direction of the sound. With her hand she tucks a piece of hair behind the ear, her fingers pressing against the cartilage accordingly. It is the sound of water running free through a low space, a river, he thinks. The closer they get to the sound the more uncertain of his guess he becomes. Yes, it does sound like the steady stream of a river, but the closer he gets the more amplified the sound becomes. It could almost be described as something that had continuous pouring. 

It isn’t until they reach a different area that Dimitri understands what Claude wanted them to see. Deep within the forest there is a river, but it is what surrounds the river that makes it special, an assortment of  **color** in the form of  **flowers** . Their roots coil within the earth until their stems grow long enough to loop around tree trunks, masking them under the different colors that exist under the sun. A vibrant display as the flowers have bloomed into different shapes and sizes. It is beautiful to see how all these different colors are stitched together by fronds, coexisting and nurturing one another within nature. Even the ground below them is covered in a carpet of previously shed corolla. 

Complete serenity.

In contrast to the muted grays and browns of the mountains, and in relation, the cityscape built from components of the ground itself, this place is deemed special by the sheer volume of color. The blue of the river, the green of the pines paired with the lighter greens of leaves and moss, a rich caramel brown hardened until it became bark, it’s sticky sap dripping from the cracks. Red, pink, orange, yellow and white, all colors that live within the flowers and give them their personality. This place is filled with wonder and only in Almyra can a place like this exist. The sun, it comes out and it stays with a purpose, to bring about life. In Fodlan, it thaws the cold.

“The color we use, it comes from here.” Claude mentions with a fond look worn upon his expression. “We extract the pigments and use it in everything, in our art, on our buildings, our clothing, even upon ourselves. It is a part of us, a part of our culture.”

_ The pines for your tea _ , Dimitri thinks as an afterthought, but chooses instead to focus on the miniature fish swimming within the river. Following its path with his eye, the fish soon got too far for his eye to trail. Through his peripheral, he notices a white flower hanging from a nearby branch. He knew not the name of it, didn’t care to know, but he plucked it from where it hung and now twirls it between his index and thumb. 

“By the goddess! Take a look at this!” This time it was Ingrid’s turn to speak, and goodness, did she sound excited. She unseated herself from her horse mid jostle, unable to contain her composure among the presence of a waterfall. Found further up the river, the water falls over the steep mountain. A path across the river is marked with flat rocks, currently wet with the splashing. 

Ingrid began to remove her foot wear, which were in fact, shaped by metal. She unfastened the buckles behind the joints making the greaves easier to remove. With her feet unrestrained she walked on the stone path and stood on the center, gazing upward to where the waterfall begins. 

“I feel so small in comparison.” She voices in amazement in which Claude responds with a teasing remark, “you are.” Ingrid kicks water at Claude’s general direction which mostly ended up getting his horse wet. 

“Sheesh, are all lady knights this brash?” At the comment she turned red in the ears and began splashing him again but Claude got off his mount before it reached him. “Alright, alright you win. I yield to the mighty ogre, I mean, maiden.” 

“Claude!” She began her scolding but silenced herself as the trickster began to approach her king. The maiden of house Galatea keeps her peace and instead sits upon the wet stone where she submerges her legs underwater. With toes curling against the stream she attempts to listen in.

“Watcha got there?” Claude asks in regards to the flower, a smirk lifting the corner of his lip. He rests his hand on Dimitri’s horse, his palm flat against the hairs as he pets back and forth. Dimitri simply gave him the flower as a gift. 

A gift well received. The king of Almyra took it upon his spare fingers and pressed it lightly against his nose to get a whiff. Upon its scent a shy smile crept behind the petals. “Lovers used to give these when they were reunited.” At these spoken words the blush on Dimitri’s face rose high to his cheeks.

A chuckle, faint and light, lived a short life once it left Claude’s lips. He tucked the flower behind his ear, and even with the added decoration, Dimitri couldn’t dare look away from those shimmering eyes. 

“You’re so red in the face. I fear that the heat must be getting to you.” His hand reaches out in an offering. Without hesitation Dimitri takes it, his grip firm around Claude’s hand, not wishing to let go as he’s maneuvered off his horse. “Allow me to  **braid** your hair. It might help you cool off.”

A scoff comes from the side, an eavesdropper it seems. Thankfully the two kings took it lightheartedly. 

In the end they chose to distance themselves where the dry boulders are. Claude sitting on a rounded one, much bigger than Dimitri’s own, that also happened to be flatter. Their height differences are just perfect for the task at hand. Claude’s fingers maneuver through the long pieces of hair, bridging each segment into a neat braid. To Claude’s surprise Dimitri was quite tender headed, winching and flinching whenever he had pulled at the bits too hard. What Dimitri doesn’t understand is that it’s hard to work with his hair. It’s layered, so he has to braid it in a way where his shorter ends won’t stick out. His hair is also straight at the top, bone straight, making it hard to retain shape and tension. If Claude doesn’t tighten the braid it’ll become loose and sloppy over time. What helps is that Dimitri’s hair is thicker near the bottom where it undulates, but it has its fair share of tangles. Not to mention the hairs of his nape feel humid, most likely from sweating. All in all it’s harder than it looks.

“That hurts.” Dimitri’s hands come up instinctively to stop it but he soon forces his hands down only to repeat the gesture again seconds later. 

“Beauty is pain.” Claude simply retorts.

Dimitri crosses his arms, the strain of his breath an audible thing. Thankfully he’s almost near the end, just a few more cross bra- and Dimitri moved forward. Claude gripped the base of his work to keep him from going forward, “Dimitri.” A warning as Claude slowly pulled him back by the braid.

“You’re still not done?”

“Not when you keep moving.” To his credit he moved less this time around. After a few minutes he was able to finalize the side braid. The longer cuts of his bangs unite with the braid, showing more of his face, though worth a mention there were still a few stray pieces that covered his forehead.

Claude tries to present the braid by moving it over Dimitri’s shoulder, but the blonde has other ideas in mind. He instead tilted his head back, eye blown in wonder by all that is Claude.

The brunette’s expression softens. He begins to lean closer, all of a sudden framing Dimitri’s face with his hands. Dimitri is held gently as if he were something delicate. All of a sudden he feels patched under Claude’s intense gaze. There is want in those eyes, but what exactly does Claude Von Riegan want?

“Will you join me for tea later, your kingliness? You look so dashing, it’d be a shame for you to spend this evening alone.” The man who holds him is the one who asks the question, the man who holds the cards and owns the deck.

Since Dimitri cannot nod he expresses his answer vocally. “Yes.” One word, a word that right now sounds different in his ears, As if someone else is voicing it.

Claude merely smiles, pleased at Dimitri’s answer.


	4. Chapter 4

**DAY V: Comfort, Custom & Culture, Family**

“I'm surprised you remembered.” 

Those words, they seed their way into Dimitri’s heart, flourishing with the escapade of Claude's darling smile. His mint eyes focused on his tea cup as he watched the fumes move upward onto his face. The Fodlan king is unsure whether the reddening hue is due to the hot tea, or whether his own attention to detail sparked an emotion within Claude. With the other king, it is often hard to tell what his emotions are, because just when he believes he’s tore one of Claude's masks off, another one lies beneath. 

“Why is this so surprising to you?” In search for an honest answer, Dimitri asks from the heart. The seeds embedded within his beating heart grow larger, wrapping around the cardiac muscle until it's wrapped in Almyran flowers. How unfortunate that when he returns to Fodlan, the winter airs will brittle the flowers in his heart. It is alongside that thought that he realizes that his heart truly belongs to the other man. When a mere smile can take his breath away, when it can fill his dull life so full of color, he knows it belongs to no one else. 

“You are a king now and before this you were a prince. There are many things that demand your attention,  _ your remembrance _ , and my favorite flavor of tea is something not worth remembering.”

Hearing this brings a frown to Dimitri’s face. He opposes Claude’s smile with his meager expression, allowing his mood to fester between them. What Dimitri understood was different, what he interpreted is that Claude was not worth the attention, was not worth remembering. His likes, his dislikes, they were Claude’s and no one else, it benefited no one but the estranged king. 

“Everything in regards to you is of great importance to me.” It is at the end of those words that Dimitri sealed his lips around the ceramic, drinking in the contents of the cup. The flavor cannot be expressed for his taste buds discern nothing. Dimitri relies on smell, textures and temperature to give him an idea. All he can say in regards to pine tea is that it’s smooth. Travels quick down his throat and it fills the expanse of his bodum with its scalding heat. Fresh herbs he directly picked from the branches of the forest, this is what they drink now in the form of water.

“A man after my own heart.” Claude retorts teasingly, but as always, there is something whimsical about him. Perhaps how Claude altered his outfit to match the decor of this room has Dimitri feeling this way. A yellow overcoat to match the yellow insides of the walls, the brown deer horn shapes sewn on to the sides of the sleeves match the brown tiles of the floor. How the beige of his pants compliment the exterior of the castle walls. It’s truly all been accounted for, even the kettle, blue to fit Dimitri's wardrobe. 

“I wouldn’t say I’m after your heart.” He wants to. Dreams of one day making a reality out of it, but there’s many obstacles, the biggest being himself.

“Oh?” Claude sounds curious now. “Then what are you after?” He asks, taking a sip of tea.

“Your trust.” 

This stalls the young Riegan. 

He promptly settles his cup down the center of the table, his bronzen fingers holding it steady as if letting go for it will make it vanish. “I invite you into my home. I meant to show you my  **customs** and my people, and yet, you still have doubts that I trust you?” He leans forward, his forearms now resting on the table’s countenance. Bearing his weight, the table creaks the closer Claude crowd’s into Dimitri’s space. The color in those eyes hold entropy within it. 

“I never knew you had a sister, you’ve never spoken about her. You’ve spoken of your parents once or twice in our letters but I've yet to meet them.” His gaze is downcast, avoiding Claude's more intense energy. “I’m not going to pretend like i’m entitled to your secrets, but seeing as I’m here, I should at least know about your  **family** if I want to garner their trust. I feel as if you’re willingly keeping me away from them.”

And just like that, Claude laughs. Not at all anything mocking, but instead, a laugh of relief. It’s contagious really, and if it weren’t for his own nerves, Dimitri would laugh too. 

“You’ve always been sharp as a whip.” Claude comments, leaning back to his chair. His words are followed by another sip of tea. He allows the taste to simmer on his tongue, allowing the words to form with hot energy. “You’re right, I’ve been trying to keep you away from the politics. I wanted you to forget the diplomacy and enjoy yourself here. I wanted to see you smiling and having fun and enjoying my  **culture** . It saddens me to admit it, but despite the small progress, the perceptions of Fodlanders has not changed much over time. I figured that if I would have let you know that, that if I would have let you know about my sister, you wouldn’t have come. So I tricked you, just as much as I tricked myself just so I could see you once more.”

Dimitri reaches for Claude’s wrist, his thumb circling the outside of the bone, coaxing him to ease his grip on the tea cup. “We have the same father but different mothers. The king at the time was already married to Nadae’s mother when he met my mother. From what I've been told our mothers fought for the king’s hand, my mother was the victor, hers wasn’t. I wasn’t born yet but Nadae was just a child when she witnessed her mother die.'' At the pause, Claude began to mimic Dimitri’s action. He too reached out with a vacant hand to one of Dimitri’s wrists and began to knead small circles into the skin in  **comfort** . 

“My people are warriors, even if it leads them down a path of senseless bloodshed, they will walk it proudly. I wanted to shield you from that, shield you from that reality, but you of all people, understand them better than I do.”

Dimitri becomes putty in Claude's hand. He feels the other’s hand go up his arm, leaning ever forward just to reach the back of his neck and pull forward the braid that he had so marvelously styled hours prior. Presently it wasn't as neat, just a few strands of hair out of place, but still, Claude stared at him as if he had no faults. He played with the tuft of blonde hair with his fingers, taking his time until Dimitri grabbed at his wrist and forced the hand further up on the side of his face. The palm of Claude’s hand laid flatly on his cheek, the length of his fingers skimming below the strap of his eyepatch. The hand ascends, both by Dimitri’s will and Claude's insistence, until the eyepatch is fully removed. 

A hypertrophic scar marks Dimitri's eye. A jagged depiction of a troubled past, the angular line stretches from brow bone to underneath his eye, leaving behind the knife’s imprint as a cicatrix. Notably more hyperpigmented than the rest of his body, the pink shades encompass the structure. 

Dimitri wants Claude to see him like this, see him as he truly is, imperfections and all. It makes sense to do it now that Claude has revealed something so intimate. Though that courage is only partly lived. He closes his eyes, too softhearted to face Claude's judgement. 

Surprisingly, judgement never came. There were no questions to be asked, no jokes to be laughed at, only a light pressure applied to his eye. Something soft presses against the scar, smooth on the surface, he manages to smell the tea in this close distance. It feels familiar, like the kiss that was given to him the night before. His ears pick up on the smack of parting lips, and that’s when he confirmed that Claude has kissed him yet again. 

Flustered, Dimitri puts his eyepatch on.

“Thank you for letting me see, I know that mustn't have been easy for you.” Claude says with a smile.

“It was easy because it was you.” He cannot tell a lie now, not when he’s made himself so transparent.

“You are far too honest with your feelings.”

“Is that so bad?” Irony is, Dimitri is not saying all that he should, there’s more he wants to say,  _ needs to confess _ , but cannot. 

“With you it doesn’t feel bad at all.” Claude takes a drink of his now much colder drink, allowing the silence to intermingle between the two of them. He begins to pour more tea into his cup and begins to discuss more about his family. “My parents had matters to attend elsewhere but will be arriving tomorrow for the celebration. I’m sure you’ll charm your way into their hearts just as you have mine’s.”

Dimitri can only laugh at Claude’s attempt at humor.

“You fascinate me, Claude von Riegan. My only regret when we were younger was not being a better friend to you.” 

“You can spend the rest of your days here making it up to me then.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this chapter the story comes to an end. Thank you to all of you who have read up to this point, I really appreciate it. I quite like this story I might do a follow up in the future, who knows!

**DAY VI: Rings, Promises & Celebrations**

The day of  **celebration** has arrived. 

Festivities kicked off alongside the morning sun, its solar flare a more magnified color. The orange intensity flares outward into the morning sky, coloring it with its hot essence. Too transfixed at it, Dimitri is able to make out the reds and yellow that comprise the color orange as it stretches across many boundaries. Intense and magnificent, never before has he seen the blaring sun shine like this. He has come to understand why the people of Almyra choose this day to praise it. 

From his bed he’s able to hear the voices of the people, loud and unapologetic as the glee they feel is expressed in the form of shouting, singing, and dancing. Such fire to their spirit, he can only look at their abundance of cheer in good grace.

Dimitri stands by the windowside, allowing the hot air to breeze through and temper with the silks wrapped around his figure. They were of Claude's choosing. Ornate and colorful fabrics that were light to the touch, it is meant to be comfortable, and most of all, cool. He feels strange in this wardrobe, only because it is too loose fitted, but of course that had been the intention all along. He is just used to armor, it is binding, adding yet another layer to his exoskeleton. 

Not to his surprise, Dimitri hears a knock at the door. That is, of course, how he commences each and every day since he’s arrived. Never aforementioned, always a surprise. What each day brings is a gift, and today he will welcome it just as he had on another other day since the arrival. He opens his door, where he is greeted by an abundance of guards, more so than the usual, nevertheless, he feels at ease spotting Ingrid’s familiar face among a barrage of indifferent strangers. 

Without the need of dialogue, Ingrid and him followed the guards to whichever destination they were told. Similar pathways etched in his mind, each day he passes the portraits of Claude's ancestors. The passage of time marked by both lineage and stylistic choices of art through the ages. Once they bypass the set of doors, they begin to walk down a long hallway where erect columns hold up the ceiling, allowing for the immersive views of the mountains to come into play. As tall as Dimitri is, he cannot see past the guards, their circular formation and mounted headgear make it difficult to scope the path ahead. Nevertheless, what he is able to see, is due to the space between each guard. 

After a short while, the guards surrounding them halt and split off into two groups, forming two vertical rows beside them. At the end of that row is no other than Nadae herself, the edge of her lip tilted upward in a smirk. 

“Morning to the two of you.” Her steps, the loudest sounding thing within the halls of the palace. Nadae looms closer, her hands idle behind her back as she eyes the pair of Fhaergus over. They might dress like Almyrans, but then don’t look or act the part. ”Did you get plenty of rest?” She asks, surprisingly, with a lack of bite. 

“Why yes, we did. Your concern is very much appreciated, Nadae.” A king from overseas, he speaks to her as though he speaks with any other, and yet, she still responds with such flippancy that he can’t help but draw the similarities between Claude and her.

“Good. I hear you Fodlan folk tire easily.” Stated so plainly, as if the thought of how it could be interpreted didn’t occur to her, or perhaps it did and she didn’t care. Dimitri suspects it’s the latter. Still, he tries to be sympathetic and patient. 

Nadae pinches the end of her hair, twirling it between her fingers with mild boredom prior to turning her back to her guests. This time she adopts a different stance, this time, it is more reserved in nature. Posture is immaculate, a straight back her shoulders taut as arms folded behind the lower back. Her short strides carry her forward without looking back but expecting to be followed. Ingrid merely scoffs at the presentation. 

“We must get going, the king waits for us.” This time, the guards do not follow and it is Nadae that leads them. Though, before Dimitri is able to take his first step, his kingsguard stops him by taking a hold of his forearm. Ingrid’s arm delicately woven by soft threads, the fabric sliding down, covering more of her skin as she holds Dimitri still.

“Why is your king not here? I find it odd that he’s not present to greet his invitees, especially on an auspicious day such as this.” Ingrid does not hold back on her skepticism. Up to this point, Claude had been thoroughly involved in their activities. This is the first time in which he’s allowed someone else to take the reins, that is, if he even did. 

Nadae halts her steps and allows the silence to speak on her behalf for a few seconds. Even in this, she manages to add a cold ambiance into their exchange. “Our king has his hands full at the present time with the celebration and all, please understand that much goes on beyond your borders and that not everything revolves around you.” There’s the bite, with a tongue that’s been filed sharp. But still, Ingrid persists. He would stop her if not for the fact that he too wants these answers.

“What exactly is in store for today’s celebration then? We know nothing of your traditions, we know not what to expect.” Ingrid lets go of her king, taking one step in front of him, hand to her chest. The fabric that covers her breathes alongside her, it moves, just as she does. A beautiful dress of white, very airy and long enough to reach her calves. 

“If you know nothing, then learn from the experience we have so graciously chosen to give you.”

This time Dimitri interjects before matters are made worse. “Please understand we merely wish to make right by you. The more we know about what will transpire, the better prepared we will be for the outcome. We know very little, that much is true, but it’s not something we want to be out of ignorance. We want to know more so that we may better appreciate your customs.” Dimitri begins to take some steps forward, not as an opponent, but an equal where they could try to meet eye to eye. The guards become more alert, weapons on the ready, but with a wave of Nadae’s hand, they return to their resting state. 

“You are right, you do know very little.” With that she turned to face him, a sense of satisfaction makes its way known as she shows teeth with her smile. “Let’s see if after today, you learn to broaden your horizons.” 

There is not much conversation to be had after that, the three of them walked with relative silence at each other’s company. 

A conglomerate of aromas began to spark his interest. Hurried workers carried crates of what he would describe as food down the various halls until they reached a bellowing point at the bottom of the stairs. They would take another route to the outside, one that wasn’t filled with people working to meet a deadline. 

“Our current king is quite the visionary.” His sister starts off just as she sees kitchen staff stocking empty plates into a carriage. “He worked out a way to make his vision come true, a vision where both the rich and poor could come together as one and feast. The distinction of class no longer playing a role in the hierarchy, today, we are all one in the same.” 

“You sound like you believe in his vision as well.” Dimitri believes in that vision too, and one day hopes to incorporate back home. People come together amidst tragedy, but they can also unite among the good times, no matter of class.

“It’s hard to believe a man who hides his truths well.” It shouldn’t come as a surprise to Dimitri, in their younger days he’s heard a multitude of rumors regarding the tactician, some of them rivaling even Sylvain’s rumors in absurdity. Nevertheless, he didn’t believe the rumors then nor would he start believing them now. Claude has proved himself a worthy ally of the kingdom time and time again. His loyalty is out of the question, there is no room in his heart for doubt.

“Do you care to clarify?” He makes no attempt to hide his discontent. His frown is there and it is deep as he awaits for an answer. 

“The truth of his name will one day be known to you, until then, he awaits.” Nadae opens the door that leads them to the outside. By now the sun has reached a higher escalade, its heat evenly distributing over the land and sky. 

A few feet away stood Claude outside of a carriage, at his side the very same messenger that carried out his message to Fhirdiad. Claude wore something similar to Nadae, toned down on the elegance in exchange for commodity. Fewer jewels lined his fingers and his hair is simply styled back, much as he did when he held the title of duke. Their pants were of the same cut, loosely fitting until reaching the end where it tightly closed around the ankles, adding a baggy description to the pants. The sides are lined with golden detailing and around their waists they wore a matching set of yellow and red waistbands, layered one atop the other. The only difference between Nadae's and Claude’s attire is what they wore above the waist, Hers being more militant and his less so.

“Ah, you’re all here, good.” Claude states as he presents himself as calm and corrected. 

“The carriages are ready, we hope it is to your liking.” Noman opens the door to the carrier, showcasing the seating arrangements. Cushioned seats on one side of the carriage, the opposing side has an opening where they could watch the driver and any sights beyond. The carriage also has windows adjacent to them so that they may also see from the sides if that were their preference. 

“We will travel alongside you in the other carriage,” He prompts by the careful notion of his hand. “It is customary for the king and queen to parade the streets of Almyra in greeting, though considering the lack of a queen, as the honored guest you have been given the honor.” It took a moment for the weight of Noman’s words to settle in. Dimitri would be the stand-in for a queen? He wonders what the people of Almyra will think of it, what kind or rumors the decision will enact. It makes far better sense for the princess to be at his side, but, refusing such an important duty now will only come to bite him later. 

“Very well.” The only two words he needed to say to accept his role at king Claude’s side. 

He gets inside the carriage and Claude proceeds to follow. With the added weight of both their bodies, the carriage dips closer to the ground, even more so when the driver takes his own seat. The dimensions felt more compact to say the least considering their thighs are pressing together. Dimitri shifts, minimizing the spread of his legs to give Claude some room to maneuver. That being said he could unfortunately do nothing about his shoulders, as broad as they are, they only seem willing to be pressed up against Claude. 

At a lash the carrier began to move, wobbly, as the wheels rode over the many rocks making part of the mountain terrain. He turned his head to the left and segments of his hair slide over the shoulder. From there he was able to see the other carriage, and from the window opening saw Nadae and Ingrid sitting beside one another, while Noman sits adjacent to them. Their carriage is bigger in comparison, rightful so as to fit more people, nevertheless, he can't help but think that his carriage in turn is too small. 

The movements of their carriage changed, it became more stable. Peering down the window he can see that wood that shapes the bridge and connects the city to the palace. His curious gaze wanders to that which is further below, a precipice that makes his stomach feels heavy. He turns his head to look away, the blaring sun flowing through the filaments on glass and washing over his skin in angles. 

“You seem quieter than usual.” Not so much a question, but a statement from Claude. Dimitri digs into his pocket, and finds with his fingers the familiar shape of the gifted scale. His thumb moves against the curve, he can feel the forming lines as he adds pressure with the gesture. Now of all things, it acts as a comfort item. 

He pulls it out of his pocket and holds the scale to the sunlight. The light refracts in different directions, augmenting the vibrant colors held within that beautiful white. 

“You brought it with you?” Claude asks, mildly surprised. 

“It has not left my side since you gave it to me.” His earnest answer.

The Almyran king can’t help but smile at those words. This, Dimitri will commit to memory. The way Claude’s lashes flutter as he shuts his eyes when a heartfelt hum leaves his lips.

“I put the flower that you gave me in a vase, and everytime I see it perched up on my desk I think of you. It makes me… happy.” It was then Dimitri felt a weight added on to him, it was Claude’s hand holding his own, weighing it down over their laps. The scale rests between their palms, a symbol of their quieted love.

The two kings smile without looking at one another.

Once the carriages cross the bridge they are met with an abundance of noise from all directions. It is overwhelming for someone of Dimitri’s nature who is used to more reserved celebrations. The smiling faces, the laughter, the screaming, it all makes part of the experience. Almyra just wouldn’t be Almyra without its passionate lot. 

He sees lots of young children running alongside the carriage, trying to match pace, but eventually, their legs become too tired. 

Inside this carriage he feels like a fish in a bowl, the world outside deemed too big and frightful. He looks to Claude and notices that he is waving with his modest smile, Dimitri can’t help but start doing the same too.

Both kings continue to hold each other’s hands through the greetings, afraid to part like the forceful seas have forced them to. 

Something that took Dimitri by surprise was the presence of tables lined up on the streets, forming two vertical rows parallel to one another. Silverware, plates and glasses kept the tablecloth from flying into the wind. There is color in the centerpieces, flowers he’d recognized from the forest seem to stretch miles wide.

_ He worked out a way to make his vision come true, a vision where both the rich and poor could come together as one and feast. The distinction of class no longer playing a role in the hierarchy, today, we are all one in the same. _

Nadae’s words rang true in the most literal sense.

“My parents should already be there.” With a squeeze of the hand, Claude holds Dimitri tighter. “I’m sure they’ll take a liking to you just as I have.” He turns to face Dimitri and when he does he is nothing short of radiance with the way he bathes in sunlight. His skin glows feverish under the sun and it is until now that Dimitri is able to notice the shimmering details of his lids and lips. A sun incarnate, Claude is able to reduce the ice king into a puddle.

The carriage comes to a steady halt.

Once the carriage doors had been opened an exuberant boust of cheer emitted from the crowd as their king drew forward. His hand high in the air in acknowledgment of their apparent devotion to blood Riegan. Lastly came Dimitri and he was met with a more calmer cheer, the crowd waiting for him to do something, anything. Crippled with suspense, the shunned king took a moment of silence and surveyed the expressions of the people. Each face said something different, some held their breath in anticipation, other’s frowned while others faced him with the same compassion Claude had. His life is about meeting expectations, this should be nothing different, but it weighs upon him like steel on water. 

Hesitantly, Dimitri waved his hand, a drall action until he gained confidence. The scale within his palm gave him the courage to face the strange crowd with the glint of his smile, and for it, he felt better. 

Claude in turn pinched him by the sleeve and led him to an older pair standing at the end of the tables. The woman was of finer texture, her skin less showing of age while her counterpart shows to have lost his youthfulness to time. The white streaks on his hair grow in waves to balance the otherwise grayish facial hair. His eyebrows are groomed thick, more rectangularly shaped in comparison to anyone else he’s met here. This is a man of stature, a man who has earned what he’s been given, the scars on both hands and face, they say it all. The woman on the other hand, is a different kind of intense. Her eyes look through him, as if peering at his soul looking for a fault. She has the color of Claude's eyes and can only assume that she is his mother. 

Claude had approached with a kiss prepped for the both of them, planting them hastily on their cheeks in hail. 

“Father, mother, how were your travels?” A light conversation topic, perhaps not in the most opportune of times considering that the background noise makes it hard to hear. 

“Boring and uneventful, though it appears that the same cannot be said for you.” Answers his mother as she stares at the fodlan king from head to toe. 

“I suppose we’re cutting straight into the introductions then? Well, father and mother, this is Dimitri Alexander Blayidd, my friend and the present king of Fodlan.” Before anyone else could interject, he followed with ingrid’s introduction. “And this is Ingrid Galatea, a respected knight amongst his court, and one of his most trusted advisors and childhood friends.”

“A female knight, that’s quite the esteemed title, especially coming from Fodlan.“ Answers his mother with a minor hint of being impressed. “Much has changed since I've last been there.”

_ Last been there? _ This time it is Dimitri’s turn to speak, all in fear that his silence would be taken for weakness. “If you ever make a trip make sure to stop by Fhirdiad, it would be my honor to show you around as thanks for your hospitality.” At his offering, she remarkably laughs. 

“I’ve no interest in going back, boy.”

_ Boy? _

“Wish we could have met under different circumstances where we could conclude our affairs in private.” The previous head of state speaks, his voice commanding attention despite his calm etiquette. “But now we must celebrate in comradery, now you will eat and drink besides us. A man of your build can no doubt handle a drink.” The conversation sealed with a handshake. This is about strength both physical and mental, and Dimitri, like all he does, gives in his best effort. 

A smile from the old king, a job well done, but still, there is much to prove. 

The sound of horns blared through the city drawing the cheering to a humble close. Claude then begins to take action as the current head, taking measured steps at the only horizontal table in the setting currently draped in gold silks. The king of Almyra pours himself a glass, the contents currently unknown but assuming by the burgundy hue of it, it must be wine. He yells then, speaks so loudly that Dimitri is convinced that those at the end of the table, miles away, could hear the exuberance of his message. There is no room for doubt, no margin of error, he speaks not out of memory but of heart. This is the true Claude von Riegan, this is the man that’s been hiding behind illusive smiles.  _ A king _ . No one is capable of doing better than the man currently standing there now. 

Dimitri does not understand the words since Claude speaks with his mother tongue, catering to his masses. Dimitri and Ingrid, are only here as witnesses of his power. He commands patriotism by wrapping syllables on his tongue, his people, they clamor by banging on the table. Dishes rattle adding to the hype, without a single word uttered, their king orders silence by lifting his glass. They stop, giving the king the silence to speak freely once more. The only word Dimitri understands is his name and that alone is enough to sate the hunger in his belly.

Claude pulls his chair back, and everyone else follows his lead, Dimitri included. The king stands in front of his chair, appearing proud before the masses, proud of what he sees, of what he’s accomplished, for all the sacrifice it took. This moment draws out longer than expected, not everything is perfect, not everything is as Claude wants, but it’s a start.

The king takes his seat on the chair, afterwards so does everyone else. As far as his eye can reach, all that fills his vision is people sitting. Communities of all income levels and ages sitting besides one another, eating together, setting aside their differences to create a worthwhile bond. It fills Dimitri with happiness, and no doubt, it does the same for Claude. 

Everyone begins to pile their plates with light dishes. After all there is a variation of food that even the most picky of eaters can enjoy. Liquids range from fresh squeezed juices to the milks of variant animals, wines and waters both flavored and not. Like all meals, breakfast is meant to be energizing and light. Claude has put great thought to what he could give to his people, that being assortments of different cheeses and thin sliced meats. Flat breads that could be topped with an assortment of items. Creams and yogurts for every palate, while beautifully decorated plates of fruits and vegetables made the rounds. He’s never been one for pastries, but there are more than a few that appealed to him, not because of texture, but for the enticing scent and color. 

Everyone eats together and when night time falls, they dance. 

Blazing arrows lit up the sky, setting blaze to the wooden towers. In sequence they light up, one after the other in pairs where the smoke overwhelms the taste buds and fills the air. The wood turned charred sparks a flame of hope on the days that are to come, one more year to celebrate life and their accomplishments. 

Female dancers come from the shadows spinning in waves, the flower decor of their skirts moving in a flurry of color, leaving Dimitri hopeless and in a trance. Loose garbs that compliment the form of the body, free flowing and untethered to the weight of life. They move freely and joyously around the fire, where perspiration will stain their garments for the hours to come. 

Ingrid watches too, in sorrow of all she has given away for the sake of being strong. She holds herself back from joining the others being unrehearsed in dance. Music is something that they feel, and their bodies act accordingly to it. Some dancers clap, some twirl while others simply step around the burning towers. This is self expression. A freeing of the spirit from the cages that are their bodies. They laugh and scream into the fire, their energy feeds it, making it grow bigger and alive. Dimitri can’t help but embrace his knee tighter when the lighting begins to outline his skin. 

“They sure are a lively bunch.” Speaks Ingrid while sitting next to her king, devout, refusing to leave him alone among so many unknown faces. This time not because of distruss, but because it simply gets lonely. He gets far too into his head when he gets lonely, and if her presence helps repel that, then so be it. 

“Sounds like they warmed their way into your heart.” His response, low humored at that. She simply shakes her head with a smile birthing in place. 

“It’s nothing like that.” She taps her foot to the beat of the ongoing drums. Music fills the streets, giving it a heartbeat, making it alive with sound. Everyone is mingling together, eating, drinking and dancing, simply forgetting their responsibilities to enjoy life for this one night. “The music is quite nice, it just makes you want to dance.” She continues.

“Then why don’t you? Don’t stop on my account.” He gives her a way out, but she refuses. 

“You know dancing is not my forte.” After that she kind of leans forward, her head tilting to the side. Her skin becomes glossy with sweat, the ever growing heat making itself known. “But it sure is Claude’s. Look.” His eye follows the direction she pointed to, and what he found at the end of it was indeed Claude. 

His mind has no way of interpreting what he sees into words, he finds himself blank at the sight of Claude dancing besides his sister. Synchronized in their forms, what one did the other mimicked. Powerful and seemingly sporadic, their dancing appeared more aggressive as compared to some. Full of stomping and twisting, they spoke through the movements of their limbs. It’s simply fascinating to watch Claude's body move to the music. The heavy outlines of red and orange phase into him, highlighting his toned skin, making him more untouchable than he already is. His shirt had been off so Dimitri was able to marvel at the expanse of his chest, how slight fine hairs filled his sternum and stretched outwards to the pecs and down to his navel. From here he can view the indentation of muscle, divine to watch how they tighten with every flexion of the dance. When Claude turns, Dimitri is able to see the curve of his spine and how it leads to his bulbous, toned back side. He sees that years of riding has kept him fit. 

It felt like an eternity had passed when in reality, it had only been a few minutes. These minutes became lost in time, their existence forgotten at the focus of Claude. A man worthy of his praise, adoration and love, and he will give it, he knows this truth now. Watching Claude give himself carelessly into the fire makes Dimitri want to do the same, though, in a different sense.

One of the female dancers approached them with her hands extended outwards, waiting for them to take her bait and force them into the festivities. Dimitri feels no desire to embarrass himself, so he politely denies the request and instead, pushes Ingrid into the lure. The woman takes a hold of the Fodlan girl, holds her tight and pulls her into a song and dance. Ingrid looks back in protest, Dimitri aware of what he’s done simply tells her to enjoy herself. He stands to watch as all the dancers hold hands and run in circles around the burning tower. He waits until Ingrid becomes acclimated, until he is certain that the redness that stained her cheeks was out of happiness. Her hair soon came out of place, losing its prim and proper elegance to the movement. With that being said, he steps out of view to lurk around the shops. He caught the attention of onlookers. Some burly looking men specifically who spat at the floor when he walked by. They took to their drinks but he noticed their glaring silence even among the loud music.

He is reminded that he is an outsider here.

This doesn’t leave him undeterred, he continues his search despite it. A jeweler is who he is after. Someone who can sell him a  **ring** for Claude. Managing to slip through the larger crowds he manages to find a booth. The seller is an older woman with her wears out on display. Here he finds multiple assortments of necklaces, bracelets, rings and earrings, he knows he wants a ring so he’ll focus his search there. 

A stunning ring catches his attention. Beautiful leaf designs branch outwards towards the ends, encrusting small scintillating gemstones within the folds to add naturalism in this interpretation. The green gemstones add a verve of flair on the already stunning metal decal. 

“So this is where you ran off to.” 

Caught red handed by no other than the king of Almyra himself, Claude von Riegan.

It’s criminal how he’s so light on his feet. That being said, Claude takes quick notice of the item Dimitri holds in his daft fingers. “Is that a ring?” He asks, almost incredulous. With little room to lie, Dimitri affirms his suspicion with a nod. 

“Plan on buying it?” Is the next follow up question, and again, the answer is with another nod. His companion found the gesture humorous and chuckled as an alternative. “Really? I don’t think your money will work here. I suppose it’s a good thing I’m here then, I’ll get it for you.” 

A valid point was made that Dimitri didn’t consider, if anything, he would have traded something of equal value if need be. Surprisingly, Claude plucked the ring from his fingers and inspected it under what little glimmer of light the fire gave. The pad of his fingers pressed against the ridges, taking the feeling of the textures that melded to create a piece of elegance. “This is pretty nice, but I doubt it’s your style. Is this for someone else?” He asks, putting on the ring to further test it. It fits so lovingly around his finger as the green of the stones matches his bedazzling eyes. 

“You are correct. It is for someone very dear to me.” Dimitri admits lovingly. 

“That person is very fortunate then, it’s a very lovely gift.” The foreign ruler removes the piece and places it on Dimitri’s palm, much like he did with the wyvern scale and forces his fingers to shut upon it. 

The transaction afterwards was short. Payment was given and they were on their way to a more secluded place per Dimitri’s request. Large gatherings made him nervous both in Fodlan and out. No matter how lovely an ambiance he was given, he could not truly be himself under the watchful eye of many, so he settles for the watchful eye of one. 

From where they stand high up on a hill, they can see the various scenes unfolding below. People drinking and boasting, others eating while the rest partake in song and dance. They see Ingrid and Nadae, sharing a space around the fire, matching their steps in a hearty dance. It is possible for two people of different blood to come together and share a love of life. 

“What’s wrong? You seem distracted.” It is Claude’s turn to break the silence, he always does in the end. 

Dimitri breathes in the silence that follows, his nostrils flaring with every amount he takes. He turns to face Claude, a nervous smile etched upon his countenance. He is young again, nervous and in love for the very first time. He is terrified and at the same time, devout to the things he needs to say. He takes a hold of Claude’s hand, gingerly holding him as he begins to place the ring on his fourth digit. An intimate and delicate gesture, something he once thought himself incapable of accomplishing. The fact that he can do this now in his near thirties brings water to his eye.

“You’ve ignited a fire within me many years ago, and now, it burns brighter and hotter than ever. This is not a flame that can be extinguished, it will forever burn, like my love for you. You found compassion within me when others thought I’d lost it. You’ve been patient and accepting of me even when I have not deserved it. You’ve invited me into your home, introduced me to your family, given me nothing but respect and love-”

“Dimitri-”

“-I want to show you how much I love you in return, how much I have always loved you. I want to give you the peace you’ve given me, if you allow me to. This ring is me giving myself to you, a  **promise** , that I will ask for your hand in marriage in a year’s time, in Fodlan, during the winter solstice. I want to invite you and your family to my home, make it special, make it as grandiose as your magnificence requires. You don’t have to say yes, but I-”

Claude silences him with a kiss. 

His lips feel like the clouds of heaven, soft and supple, pliant against him as their lips slot together. It feels like a blessing to know that this in itself is an answer. His insides are incinerating with need, the desire to love and be loved. To hold, to kiss, to spoil at each other's side.

Claude steals his breath in every sense of the word. Stole his heart too, a bandit through thick and thin, stole bits and pieces of Dimitri for himself until he was able to have him whole. Not that Dimitri could complain, not with Claude's lips pressed against him, exhibiting so much desire as if he was holding back the entire time as well.

Their kiss ends and he feels left in a glamorous daze. 

Dimitri breathes heavily with Claude's weight on him, their chests so close together after their passionate exchange. “You just can’t say that and expect me not to lavish you.” And he kisses Dimitri again, and again, and again, a kiss for each time he’s been unable to. A kiss for every time he’s wanted to, a kiss for every time he felt unworthy to give, for missed opportunities due to his inexperience, for his self-doubt, and for lack of time. He kisses Dimitri until his flesh becomes ripe.

“How about we conclude this evening’s celebration in my chambers, and I'll give you something to look forward to on our wedding night.” It was Claude's idea, Claude's cheeky way of saying yes to the premature proposal. 

This is the happiest he’s ever felt. He takes claim of Claude's hand, holds it by the fingertips to lead it up to his lips where he would then plant a kiss on the newly given ring. 

The path leading to his chambers is through fire, its blazing flames purifying them and granting them a new beginning. Hand in hand they walk that path together, until it leaves them smoky and glistening, and ever more amorous for one another.


End file.
